


meat me

by noodlemio



Category: mr.meaty show
Genre: M/M, Minimum Wage Job, Other, Union, confusing POV, terrible formatting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21750433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlemio/pseuds/noodlemio
Relationships: mr.meaty/reader





	meat me

wiping the last table, i finally put my rag away and go to clock out. I worked the night shift tonight so the place was pretty much empty aside from mr.meaty and i.  
come to think of it i haven’t seen him in a while i wonder what he’s up too.  
searching for mr.meaty won't be hard since he’s either in the meat locker or the kitchen, those being his favorite spots to stop and smell the meats in the middle of the night. deciding to check the locker first i attempt to push the door open but it won’t budge!  
it seems someone has piled boxes of hot dogs against the door inside so that no one can get it.  
i press my face against the square glass window in hopes of seeing if meaty was in there but all i could see was hot dogs so that meant he could only be in one other place. the kitchen. 

tisssssssss, the fryer startles me and i fall onto the wet floor in front of mr.meaty.  
“oh there you are! i clocked out already” i stand up and attempt to ring out the water from my clothes but to no avail i stay soaked.  
“i know what could dry you off” meaty says so quietly i almost think he’s talking to the fries and not me.

mr.meaty grabs me by my soaked uniform, pressing my back against the food preparation counter.  
i can barely make out the pops of the fryer over my pounding heart. “you’re almost as cold as one of my hotdogs, sweetheart.” am i? i feel a cold shiver run down my spin as water drips down my back, all the while meaty is staring me down with the intensity of a chef about to master his signature dish.  
i chuckle, not knowing how to respond, refusing to look up from the tiled floor. he lifts my chin with his ungloved hand, the other still coated in grease. “interested in working a little overtime?” meaty doesn't even wait for a response, he knows my answer already.


End file.
